


what can i do for you?

by meronicavars



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Country Music, Cuddling & Snuggling, Forensic Files, Gay Mike Hanlon, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Chapter Two, Service Top Richie Tozier, Sharing a Bed, and other references to true crime, and then NOT PLATONIC, eddie and stan are still dead for the time being, references to reddie and BIKE! as unrequited as far as they know, richie just wants to eat mike's ass is that so much to ask?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21793165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meronicavars/pseuds/meronicavars
Summary: Richie temporarily moves in with Mike, they watch Forensic Files, they talk about being gay and politics and shit, and then THE FEELINGS COME.
Relationships: Mike Hanlon/Richie Tozier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	1. i know you'd make a murder board your wife

**Author's Note:**

> okay so, the working title for this is "eat ass and watch forensic files" and in my heart is still called that, but what can i do for you by bob dylan is also the theme song for this so... bada bing bada boom.
> 
> chapter one is richie's POV, and chapter two will be mike's POV (idk when ch2 will be up just bare with me)

When Richie moves into Mike’s place (temporarily, mind you), he’s struck by the glaring lack of murder board.

“I just expected newspaper clippings and red string,” Richie says, with a flourish of his hand. “And y’know, the whole conspiracy she-bang.”

“What happened in Derry isn’t a conspiracy,” Mike says, good-naturedly. “A conspiracy entails at least two people colluding.”

“Okay, nerd, I did, in fact, know that,” Richie says, rolling his eyes. “I was just trying to make a point. I do love a good murder board though.”

“Well, I apologize for the lack of murder board,” Mike says, and crosses to one of his bookshelves. “I do have plenty of true crime books to make up for it. Do you want government conspiracy or something more low level?”

“How about Netflix?”

Mike stops with his mouth open and a book half off the shelf.

“You don’t have Netflix?” Richie says slowly.

“No?”

“Wait,” Richie looks around the apartment and up to the tower,  _ searching _ and comes up empty. “Do you even have a TV?”

“There are TVs and computers in the actual library, but I’ve been kind of busy, Richie,” Mike says. “What with all the—”

“Clown shit, right, dude,” Richie shakes his head and he’s struck with the uncontrollable need to just hug Mike, because Jesus, that is just  _ sad _ .

Mike returns the hug warmly, although he furrows his brow suspiciously at Richie when they pull away.

“How do you keep up to date on me, man?” Richie says, gently punching Mike in the pec—which is WOW, solid. “Damn, bro, you are ripped for a librarian, okay, we’ll come back to that, but—”

“I’m actually a librarian’s assistant,” Mike corrects.

“Not the point, but  _ seriously _ , Mikey, I have my laptop, let’s what  _ Forensic Files _ .”

They set up on Mike’s pull-out futon which, according to Mike is never folded up into a couch because he “never really has company” and okay maybe Richie’s just really emotional right now and needs to let his friends know he loves them because, hello, he just lost his childhood best friend-dash-first love, so of course, Richie hugs Mike again.

While he’s holding Mike and Mike is holding him (in his big, strong, warm arms), something occurs to Richie.

“Wait, what about one-night stands?” he asks, letting Mike go. “You don’t need a couch for that, just one sturdy futon. And I mean, I know you’d make a murder board your wife and live happily ever after but—getting back to just how, like, sculpted by the Gods you are—please tell me this fold out couch has been properly  _ slept _ in at least once by a beautiful woman who you’ve never seen again.”

Mike rolls his eyes and punches Richie softly on the arm, which  _ ow _ —

“Oh, that did not hurt, Richie!”

“Have you  _ seen _ your biceps, you could tap a tree and it would fall over,” Richie argues. “That hurt.”

“Mhm, sure,” Mike says, and goes to open Richie’s laptop. “Do you want to watch your stupid show?”

“ _ Forensic Files _ isn’t stupid,” Richie says. “It’s educational, which I know you’re all about since you work in a library.”

“Forensics  _ is _ very interesting,” Mike says. “You know, I find the history of fingerprinting quite fascinating.”

“That’s a great opener for speed dating,” Richie says as he opens Netflix, scrolling to his continue watching and clicking on  _ Forensic Files _ (third in the list after  _ The Office _ —he was halfway through a rewatch of Garden Party—and  _ BoJack Horseman _ —he has depression). “You should totally do that, by the way. I’d go with you, but I stopped dating women, like, fifteen years ago.”

“I’ve never dated women,” Mike says, and Richie aggressively slams the space bar on his laptop to pause the show.

“What?”

“I mean a friend from college set me up on a blind date once, but I don’t really count that,” Mike says, matter-of-factly.

“Wait, wait, wait, do you mean you’ve just never dated or that you’ve never dated women because you’re—”

“Gay,” Mike says slowly, clearly not understanding what Richie’s so worked up about.

“You’re gay?”

“Yes,” Mike says, and he stretches it into a question.

"And, like,  _ out _ ?"

"Yeah," Mike says, shrugging.

“In  _ Derry _ ?” Richie says, incredulously.

“Yes, in Derry.”

“But it sucks here,” Richie says. “I’ve lived in Los Angeles since I was eighteen and I’m not even out. Like publically. How are you out, like, in  _ Derry _ ?”

Mike hmms thoughtfully, understanding, and then shrugs again.

“Honestly, it doesn't come up a lot and I don't hide it if someone asks, but I also haven't had a lot of people to come out to.”

“Oh, dude, don’t make me hug you again.”

“I haven’t been  _ making _ you,” Mike says.

“Yes, you have,” Richie says. “You keep saying sad things and it makes me sad. And we’ve had like the shittiest past few days, but you’ve been, like, alone in this stupid, fucking town for thirty fucking years, remembering all our fucking childhood trauma with no one to share it with. You must be so fucking lonely!”

Mike hugs him this time and Richie fists his hands in the back of Mike’s shirt.

“I’m okay, Rich, it’s…” he takes a breath, patting Richie’s back, and then continuing on, “I mean, yeah, I’ve been lonely, but I’m glad I have you all back now.”

“Except Eddie,” Richie says, and he  _ doesn’t want to start crying again, what the actual fuck, Trashmouth _ .

“I got Eddie for a little bit,” Mike says. “Sometimes a little bit can be enough.”

And _ oh _ , that’s just  _ tragic _ , because for Richie it’s never enough, not even fucking close, but Mike is ever the optimist.

“It can only get better from here,” Mike concludes.

Richie nods against his shoulder, missing Eddie, missing  _ Mike _ somehow even though he’s  _ right fucking there in his arms _ ; but Richie decides he is NOT going to cry, so he settles for being a dumbass instead.

“Please tell me you’re not a virgin though, if you’re a virgin, I think I may actually cry.”

“No, I’m not a virgin, Richie,” Mike says, and Richie feels like he can  _ hear _ Mike rolling his eyes. "I go to the Falcon sometimes, I'm not a total hermit, asshole."

Richie pulls back and grins, “nice.”

They settle back and watch the show finally. Richie watches intently mostly, looking back and forth between the screen and a game of sudoku on his phone, while Mike slips on a pair of reading glasses (sexy librarian Mike is really working for Richie) and works on something obviously library and administration related.

Richie thinks Mike isn’t really paying attention until Mike leans over into Richie’s space, squinting at the screen and says, “the husband did it.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Richie laughs, and pats Mike’s thigh.

Mike catches his hand and Richie feels Mike’s warmth creep up his arm and settle in his belly. He’s his friend, he thinks, his  _ hot _ friend, but his very good, loving  _ hot _ friend who’s just as lonely and touch starved as he is and it’s  _ nice _ . It’s  _ nice _ that if he hugs Mike, Mike won’t push him away, it’s  _ nice  _ that Mike will just hold his hand and it doesn’t mean anything but at the same time means  _ everything _ , because they fucking survived somehow. It’s nice to be tactile. It’s nice to have a friend.

They stay like that, holding hands loosely, until they both pass out,  _ Forensic Files _ still playing.

When Richie wakes up, he’s crying, because of course he is. It’s like 3 AM, goddamn  _ Forensic Files  _ is still going, and Richie Tozier is absolutely sobbing into Mike’s shoulder. Mike, who is a great friend, as quickly as possible pauses Netflix, closes the laptop, puts it on the side table, and gets to wrapping his arms around Richie and whispers sweet nothings in his ear.

Okay, all he’s saying is “hey, Rich, it’s okay, it’s just a dream, we’re okay,” but Richie really wouldn’t be opposed to the sweet nothings especially because, let’s be real, it’s not okay, it wasn’t just a dream, and they might  _ physically _ be okay, but Richie feels like absolute shit emotionally. And Richie's emotions were already pretty fucked up without the deluge of traumatic childhood memories of shame and fear cascading in.

And he misses Eddie.  _ Fuck _ , he misses Eddie so much.

He must’ve said that out loud because Mike is just holding him tighter and saying, “yeah, I miss him too, Richie.”

“Got to see him again for like 24 hours and it just like all came back,” he says through his obnoxious blubbering. “It all came back.”

Mike tries to shush him, runs a hand through his hair, rubs circles into his back, but Richie just can’t shut up now.

“God, I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“No, no, I am. Honestly, the biggest fucking idiot imaginable. Listen, if Eddie was here he’d say the same thing. Big stupid Trashmouth.”

“Well, that would be very Eddie of him.”

Richie chokes out a surprised laugh and nods.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “And he wouldn’t shut up 'til I stopped crying.”

“You wouldn’t shut up either,” says Mike.

“Well, I’m not shutting up now,” Richie says. “ _ And _ I’m still crying.”

“No, you’re not,” Mike says, letting Richie go a little bit and looking at him with a small smile.

“I’m not?”

Mike wipes his thumbs over the tears on either of his cheeks, “nope.”

“Well, would you look at that?” Richie sniffles a little bit still, but his crying has actually stopped.

Mike presses his forehead against Richie’s as Richie’s breathing slowly comes back to normal, one hand warm on his neck and the other still against his face.

“I hate to break up this beautiful moment, because to be held by a muscular librarian is definitely on my bucket list;” Richie says, letting his own hand drift over Mike’s head and neck. “but I really need to blow my nose.”

Mike sits back and laughs. A full-bodied beautiful laugh and Richie grins dumbly at him through his runny nose and his probably gross and blotchy face.

Mike grabs a toilet paper roll from the side table and hands it to Richie, who takes it wrapping the sheets around his hand a couple times before tearing it off and handing the roll back to Mike.

“Love how you don’t have Kleenex, just toilet paper,” Richie says and then blows his nose. “Truly a man after my own heart.”

“It doesn’t make sense to buy a separate product,” Mike says putting the roll back on the nightstand. “I’m just practical.”

“Right? It’s  _ easy _ ! And it’s economical! Like why do I need to be fancy? Just give me some fucking toilet paper, it’ll do the job just fine.”

Mike nods, chuckling a little, and holds up the small bedside garbage can for Richie who throws the used toilet paper in. Mike sets the can back down and turns back to Richie, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“Eddie would hate it though.”

Mike looks at him sympathetically.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna cry again, I’m just saying. Eddie probably had that stupid cashmere whatever fucking Kleenex with like aloe in it or some shit. Like, come on, Eds, get some toilet paper, get an aloe vera plant, make it yourself.”

Mike smiles, but he still looks sympathetic.

“You really loved him, huh?”

Richie laughs a little self-deprecatingly and shakes his head.

“Honestly, man, I don’t know. I don’t know if I really know what love is? Like, that’s fucking sad to say as a 40 year old man, but I’m also gay and closeted and honestly…" he trails off, pausing, then points an excited finger at Mike. "You know what? Fuck it! Yeah, yeah, I fucking love him. Loved, love, whatever, yeah. I still love him. I loved him when I was an obnoxious 12 year old and I love him now as a successful untalented traumatized 40 year old closeted gay comedian with honestly no prospects in life after having a mental breakdown on stage and disappearing for a week.”

“Aren’t you planning to stay disappeared for a while?”

“Yeah, I talked to Steve. He’s not happy about it, but he’s gonna make a statement for me. I just have to talk it over with him more tomorrow.”

“Is that statement going to include you coming out?”

“No, I’ll do that in person on Twitter or something.”

“On Twitter is not in person, Richie.”

“Well, it’s the next best thing.”

“Does your manager know you’re gay?”

“I mean, yeah? I think so. Like, he knows I’ve fucked around with guys and he knows I don’t talk about it and obviously he knows my entire act is about being a shitty straight dude with a girlfriend who he treats terribly. So, I want to say that he knows I’m gay, he just doesn’t talk about it with me, because I don’t talk about it with him.”

“That’s fair, but maybe you should talk about it with him? You want to turn over a new leaf, right? After everything?”

“Yeah,” Richie nods. “The statement’s really just gonna be about Stan without getting into any details and I’ll just stay here and off Twitter and watch  _ Forensic Files _ with you.”

“You can stay as long as you won’t, you know? As long as you don’t mind sharing a bed.”

“Are you kidding? I love sharing a bed! I mean, I’m totally ready to actually sleep now. Do you wanna cuddle?”

“You just wanna touch my biceps.”

“Well, yeah, obviously. I am a simple man with simple needs.”

“In all seriousness though, stay as long as you want,” Mike says, squeezing Richie’s shoulder. “Come on the road with me. I do kinda wanna get down to Florida at some point.”

“Florida sucks though! Let’s go somewhere exotic like,” he pauses for dramatic effect and then says, “Vermont!”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that and turn around and go to sleep,” Mike says and pushes his legs under the covers, laying down.

“Okay, I know you’re turning your back on me here, but that just means you’re offering to be the little spoon,” Richie shuffles down next to Mike, getting comfortable under the blankets. “So, don’t blame me if in the morning you wake up with my own big strong arms wrapped around you.”

“Good night, Richie,” Mike says firmly, but Richie can still hear a hint of a laugh in his voice.

“Night, Mikey,” Richie replies, and scoots over, throwing an arm over Mike’s waist.

Mike holds onto Richie’s arm and laces his fingers through Richie’s. Richie smiles against Mike’s spine and finally gets a restful sleep.

It gets relatively easy after that. Richie helps Mike organize and pack his things up. They decide what of Mike's collections he'll donate to the library and what he wants to keep. He was already living fairly sparingly in terms of possessions apart from the shelves upon shelves and stacks upon stacks of books, manuscripts, and texts; but Mike manages to downsize considerably, cutting his wardrobe in half and whittling his shoes down to two multi-purpose pairs. 

Mike isn't entirely sure how he ended up with so many pairs of shoes, he definitely hasn't needed the majority of them. Plenty of them are old work boots he kept from when he was younger and worked on the farm, there's a pair of converse from when he was a kid that he'd saved up for following a brief interest in basketball. Two pairs are runners from an old boyfriend who forgot them at Mike's place (back when he was still living at the farmhouse) and somehow never seemed to make it out of Mike's possession.

("So, you actually had a boyfriend once," Richie muses, while they're tying shoes together with elastic bands and throwing them in a garbage bag to be donated to a halfway house in Bangor.

"Yeah, Chad and I were together for about a year and then he got a job in the UK," Mike says. "We ended on good terms. I wasn't ready for an upheaval of my life and he understood that."

Richie nods sympathetically for a moment, and then—

"Wait,  _ Chad _ ? You dated a guy named  _ Chad _ for a year? What is he a fucking football star from Ohio?"

"No, he's an English professor from Maine."

" _ Chad _ ? Please tell me he was at least a hot, fit nerd like you and not, like, a skinny mousy nerd, because you can't be named Chad and not have muscles… or be blonde… and have a skateboard."

"He was pretty fit, not gonna lie. He wasn't blonde and didn't have a skateboard though."

"Can't believe Chad can't live up to the full character of his name. Tragic.")

They usually have Netflix playing in the background. First, it was  _ Forensic Files _ , and then  _ The Staircase _ , because they got to that episode of  _ Forensic Files _ which ignited a conversation about misogyny among gay and bi men and how Michael Peterson's bisexuality is irrelevant to the fact he obviously hates women and is also a psychopath.

(Mike is very surprised Richie has such enlightened takes on the matter considering his comedy, until Richie reminds him he doesn't actually write his comedy. To which Mike replies that he still performs it and will have a lot of fucking damage control to do, because being gay doesn't mean you're not sexist—they  _ literally _ just talked about this, Richie—even if your act isn't your work and is from a decidedly heterosexual perspective.)

They end up getting too pissed off by  _ The Staircase _ and go back to  _ Forensic Files _ because it's much more entertaining background noise. They leave it on while they talk, impassioned on a broad variety of topics.

Mike actually calls Richie out on his bullshit. It's not just a "beep, beep" to shut him up; he has genuine concerns about the way Richie's presented himself over the years as a straight apolitical comic when in private he's obviously gay and deeply political (and in Mike's own words: "actually fucking funny"). Richie knows that on a personal level, being dishonest has been bad for his mental health which very easily translates to his physical health; but he's been so preoccupied with his own shitty psyche for the past 20 years, that he failed to realize that his fictional offensive persona with absolutely zero knowledgeable irony is effective negatively on a bigger scale. 

("You want people to like you," Mike says, gesturing with a book in his hand. 

"Obviously."

"You want people  _ like you _ to like you," Mike continues. "You're a public figure, Rich. You have a responsibility to discredit the shitty people who feel legitimized by your apparently apolitical comedy. No matter what you or anyone says, nothing is truly apolitical. Certainly not in 2016. I would never force you to come out of the closet, obviously, but it matters to make your stance on serious issues that affect  _ you _ and  _ me _ clear.")

Richie loves this. It feels so good to have someone actually connect with him and it makes him so aware of what he's been missing all those years he forgot. Mike and Richie agree on all the important things, and where they don't agree it's because Richie's been living in a closet his entire life, and once Mike gives him a good kick in the ass, he comes around. Richie is being reminded he cares about things and talking about those things with someone who feels the same way is exciting and motivating. Mike's criticisms and encouragements make him feel respected for the first time in his life.

He's also struck by the feeling of realizing he's gay all over again. 

Richie remembers having rousing conversations like this in college with a girlfriend, but there was the distinct awareness all the time that all he wanted to do was talk. And, yeah, Richie has always loved to talk and he could go on for hours on end, but he recalls once a conversation fizzled out she'd be so wired she'd want to have sex and Richie would try desperately to start up  _ another _ discussion on Reagan being a massive piece of shit (hoping that might even  _ hint _ that he's gay without having to say it). 

With Mike, Richie is acutely aware that he's feeling whatever she was feeling all those years ago. When he talks with Mike about shit that matters it gets his blood pumping in a way that he doesn't know he's ever felt. It's a heady rush not just of attraction, but attraction to someone who  _ gets _ him and challenges him and actually fucking cares about him. And lust is so much better when it's paired with love.

And Richie could probably love Mike  _ like that _ ; and sometimes when they're debating the current climate of true crime as a genre and how it extends to them as marginalized people and the ignorance Mike, as a gay Black man, is faced with because he's not the victim straight white women want to cry over, Richie feels like he does love him in that way.

He knows he loves him as a friend. But now that he's not just objectively aware that he has a hot friend and that he actually wants to jump Mike's bones, the subject of love takes on a whole new meaning to Richie.

He almost feels like he's betraying Eddie's memory by wanting to fuck (read: make sweet tender love to) Mike, until he remembers his love for Eddie has always been unrequited. That makes him feel shitty of course, but ethically (or whatever) he doesn't have a reason to be guilty.

So, he keeps holding Mike through the night. Mike has always been easy with affection; no qualms about sharing a bed with his male friends or holding their hands. Richie is thankful for it, because even when he had thought of Mike entirely platonically, he needed that physical tenderness. Now that his feelings are not so platonic, he isn't sure if it means anything more for Mike. It's obvious to him that two men cuddling through the night, fingers laced together is… pretty fucking gay. They also both happen to actually be gay. So, is this just regular gay or, like,  _ gay _ gay? Richie doesn't know. It's not like he's ever had a proper relationship; and all his one-night stands and his few casual weekend relationships didn't really leave room for cuddling, it was all sex. Now, this is all cuddling and no sex. Which is great, honestly, Richie could cuddle forever, especially with Mike who is very warm and all the contours of his body feel awesome against Richie's arms and chest and legs. But if sex were added to the equation… Well, Richie just thinks that'd be fucking swell. 

He just doesn't know what Mike is thinking about it. Mike clearly enjoys being held, and Richie thinks he enjoys being held  _ by him _ . And Mike was the one to hold Richie's hand first! Mike pulls him closer, wordlessly letting him know it's alright. But Richie can't read his mind, he doesn't know for sure. 

He can't exactly imagine Mike spooning with Ben or Eddie or Stan, which definitely bodes well for him; but then Richie remembers Bill. Okay, there's definitely  _ something _ with Mike and Bill. They've always had a connection, much in the way Richie felt he and Eddie had had. Oh,  _ God _ , were Mike and Richie rebound cuddling from their long lost childhood crushes on straight men? Was this their way of getting over heterosexual married dudes (one of them dead)? Cuddling the nearest gay friend you can find and just  _ not fucking letting go _ ?

If that's what's happening here, Richie's impressed they've lasted a whole two weeks without having sex yet. Maybe he should make a move? Should he do it when they're spooning at night? Go for Brokeback and pull Mike's hand onto his dick?

Okay, no, he'll kiss him first. Make it easy, just kiss him and see where that goes. In broad daylight while they're watching  _ Forensic Files _ and maybe if Richie's lucky, he'll get to eat Mike's ass.

(He really wants to eat Mike's ass.)

He mentally fistbumps the air for good luck and buries himself deeper into the bed, into Mike's side, and falls back asleep to the sound of Mike's breathing in his ear.


	2. axes are gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is chapter two. it's my bday so i was like I MUST POST TODAY.
> 
> here's the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2hZYtfnm0fdrCI8cwk3sFi?si=T9Vi5cxbSPaVsH_7ndeiNQ) for the fic, pls listen in order if you can. 
> 
> i reference something i said on my podcast and i'm not sorry. i'm right.
> 
> anyway remember to eat ass and watch forensic files

Mike has always felt like Derry is pretty far removed from even Bangor; but with Richie living with him and pretty openly walking around Derry it feels like they're on another planet. Richie hasn't been recognized since that kid at the Jade almost a month ago, despite making several attention grabbing scenes to make Mike laugh in diners, or at the library, or by the Paul Bunyan statue and exactly zero attempts to obscure his appearance. Richie is loud and wears visibly loud clothing. While they're eating brunch at a diner, he puts Dolly Parton's 'Here I Am' on the jukebox and passionately lip-syncs it to Mike while sitting across from him. The young waitress stares at them trying to figure out when would be an appropriate time to take their order, but she does not in any way seem to recognize that the Dolly fan is popular comedian Richie Tozier.

Richie has done just about everything to get himself recognized, bar walking up to someone and saying "hi, I'm Richie Tozier and I want to get noticed by the paparazzi", but Derry seems to have some sort of magical globe around it, keeping the outside  _ out _ . It makes Mike wonder what other magic is lurking around the town. He knows the clown is gone, but he just feels there's something more in Derry than just It. 

Mike nearly has a heart attack when Richie goes to pick up a hand bound book of Mike's research on Derry and the surrounding area to add to a give away box, stumbling across the hardwood to grab Richie's hands and snap, "no, I'm keeping that one."

Richie takes his hands back putting them up in defense, "woah, dude, sorry, do my hands have like destructive oils?"

"Yes, everyone's hands do, but that… I mean…" Mike picks up the book, flips through the pages. "Sorry, it's fine, I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Mike isn't exactly embarrassed about all the research he's done, the memoirs and history is written about his hometown, but he also doesn't really want to tell Richie about how he's had nothing better to do than just that. He lied to Richie. He pretends that everything's fine, when he's been so depressingly lonely, he's had to write so he wouldn't end up being forgotten completely. 

It isn't embarrassing, it's just sad. It makes him anxious thinking about how his life was almost a meaningless day to day drudge, only getting on by writing tomes upon tomes of what Mike is sure are worthless ramblings. Sure, everything worked out in the end, bar losing Eddie and Stan, but he can't let Richie know about his writing. Can't give him a front row seat to his psyche. Richie's already got too much on his plate.

"It's cool, man, I get it: you're protective of your collection," Richie says. "Was gonna ask where it was going though, you jumped the gun a little bit."

"I've just been reading this one," he says.

"What's it about?"

Mike closes the book and smiles, "nothing, it's just folklore. So, have you thought anymore about coming out?"

Richie ends up weighing the pros and cons of coming out via twitter, or if it should "be, like, a press conference or something", but he's still not ready. He considers checking what people are saying in reply to the statement Steve made for him, but Mike warns him against it, since it might ruin the semblance of peace he's found in Derry.

"Who ever thought I'd be kinda happy in Derry, huh?" Richie says.

Mike laughs and nods, "it might just be being away from the spotlight. You could be anywhere."

"Anywhere wouldn't be with you," Richie says, and turns to go tape up a box of books.

And, oh… has he been making Richie happy? Richie's been making him happy. He'd lied to Richie to before, he's been desperately lonely. Scared to ask someone to be close to him, but Richie's been feeding his hunger to be touched and held and listened to, that he's been starving for for so long. He was too embarrassed to let Richie know that it hasn't  _ really _ been fine. He likes his job and his co-workers, he likes going to the Falcon when he feels like it, but he's still been lonely, quiet, busy researching and compiling everything he's found about Pennywise and the strange history of Derry. It's been pretty fucking terrible actually, looking at how much he's deprived himself of love even when the chance was there. He remembered the Losers, so he knew exactly what he was missing, but he couldn't just call them up and remind them. He already feels guilty for knowing the trauma would inevitably be remembered and that he would be the one to give it back to them. He wasn't going to do it until it was necessary, and now he doesn't know if their lives are worse or better or just more complicated. For the ones who are alive at least.

Richie doesn't seem to blame him though. He seems to want to be near him, to want to hold him. He's been lying and lonely just like Mike has all these years. Gay, hating himself, performing a farce to survive. When Richie isn't home Mike cries thinking about it. And then he thinks about Richie now, open with Mike, affectionate, loving, proud, and his tears take on new meaning.

What it must be like to make someone happy and have him do the same for you. Mike thinks he knows now.

When Richie wraps his arms around him, Mike pulls him tighter against his back. He wants to push back against him, to guide his hand under his shirt and over his chest, to hook his ankle around Richie's calf and pull his knee between his thighs. 

He  _ wants _ him. And not just because it's been… a while, and he craves the branding of skin on skin so much he feels it in his teeth; but because he knows Richie. He's not a traveller coming through town he's met at the Falcon that he can easily forget and move on from. He's Richie. He's funny and as dorky as he is, he's passionate and so much smarter than he lets on in the public eye. He listens to Mike, he teases Mike, he respects Mike, he holds Mike like he never wants to let go. He doesn't just want a body. He wants  _ him _ .

And he thinks Richie might just want him to, the way he catches him looking sometimes and then quickly looks away and makes a joke about axes being gay or something.

("I mean, I'm really fucking gay," Richie says.

"Oh, I hadn't noticed," Mike deadpans, flipping through an old notebook of his research on Derry. He's begun to think maybe there  _ is _ something to his worthless ramblings—at least the actual history of the town and not Mike's tired life—but he needs to edit out a lot.

"I fully killed Bowers with an axe," Richie continues. "Lizzie Borden killed her parents with an axe. Lizzie Borden was a lesbian. Therefore, axes are gay."

Mike looks up from his notebook and pulls his reading glasses off to stare at Richie.

"Did you just compare yourself to Lizzie Borden?"

Richie just grins.)

Maybe Richie's interested… He can let himself believe that Richie wants to have sex with him but Richie is definitely still hung up on Eddie. Yeah, Mike had thought fleetingly about his own feelings for Bill, but he'd never really considered it seriously. Whatever he's feeling for Richie gains momentum everyday, stronger than his childhood crush on Bill. More adult, more logical, and when he thinks about Richie, more sparks fly through him than he can remember when he's ever thought about Bill or even when he was with Chad.

And he knows Richie isn't ready, but Richie insists he's going to come out before the election. Richie insists he's going to take responsibility for the bullshit of his act and be open for the first time in his career. Richie insists he's going to be honest about the things he cares about. (He says he hasn't been truly honest about his beliefs and his politics since he was still just a nobody in college and he would discuss Marx and "how capitalism will kill us all!" with his girlfriend at the time—"Look how much it's already killed me," he says.) Richie insists he's going to finally do what's right and that it's not too late. It can't be too late.

Mike loves watching Richie getting excited, his hands flying everywhere. He makes jokes through it all, even when he's angry and talking about something serious; he knows when the time to laugh is. It's beautiful to watch, exciting, sexy. It works him up like nothing else and he wants to kiss Richie sometimes to shut him up, but he also never  _ wants  _ Richie to shut up, because when Richie has something real to say, he's always right. Mike wants to encourage him to maybe tweet some of his thoughts, let the world know where he stands, especially with this election on the horizon. But Mike is also worried about how Richie will respond to backlash from the fanbase his manager and ghost writers have worked so hard to curate. Richie is still grieving, they both are, but then Mike thinks maybe he isn't giving Richie enough credit; because Richie is also resilient. A survivor. Just like Mike. Just like the rest of the Losers.

He tells Richie that tweeting about some of the things he's been talking to Mike about might do some good. 

"Work your way up to coming out," he says. "Retweet a few articles or something. You don't even have to look at your notifications."

They're at the diner for lunch, listening to the unending playlist Richie queued on the jukebox of old country music. ("Do you think Patsy Cline was bisexual? I think Patsy Cline was bisexual," Richie muses, attempting to square dance back to their booth.) Mike enjoys learning about Richie's taste in music, it's eclectic, but he seems to always come back to Dolly and Patsy. Mike isn't mad. To be honest, listening to country makes him feel like less of a homebody; it makes him feel restless and excited to know he’s actually going to get out on the road. He can also relate to all the songs about heartache and growing up on a farm.

"I think I'm ready to come out," Richie says. 

"That's awesome, Rich."

Richie is quiet for a moment, much more quiet than he usually is, thinking hard about something. Mike reaches over and presses his thumb between Richie's eyebrows, trying to smooth out the deep furrow. Richie relaxes his face and looks up as Mike lets his hand slide down to Richie's shoulder, his arm, and then away.

He wants to kiss him, but he won't.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he says instead.

"Everyone's gonna think I'm coming out because I have a boyfriend, but I just want people to know I'm gay. I don't want to lie anymore."

"I don't think people will think that," Mike says. "I know a lot of people come out when they're in a serious relationship and they don't want to hide it, but that isn't, like, mandatory criteria for coming out."

"I guess I could be known as the depressed single gay comedian instead of the shitty straight dude with a girlfriend," Richie says. "Having a boyfriend would be cool though."

Mike laughs and hopes it doesn't sound dry and telling. He rubs a hand over his beard (which he's grown out now because Richie off-handedly mentioned he'd look good with one), and nods, "yeah, having a boyfriend would be super cool."

"So cool," a voice says to his right, and Mike looks up at the waitress, who's standing there awkwardly. "So, like, are you ready to order?"

"Oh, yeah, totally," Richie says, grabbing the menu and ordering for both of them.

Honestly, a lot of the time—well, most of the time, it’s like he and Richie have boyfriends already: each other.

Mike has twitter to post updates on the library's various community events, but in recent years he's been using it to keep up to date on the other Losers. Bev's twitter was really a joint account with her husband, obviously run by a social media hire, promoting their brand and retweeting pictures of celebrities in their event wear. Bill's twitter was almost entirely retweets of articles and positive reviews of his books and movies, with a personal tweet here and there about Audra's movies or wishing other horror authors happy birthday. Ben's twitter was all tweets of links to his instagram of architecture, both his own and others he admires. Stan and Eddie didn't have twitter. Richie's twitter…

Well, it was more personal than the others' but it was also a carefully crafted caricature for him to present to the world. Mike was always sure whatever was on Richie's twitter was the only material he wrote himself and it was all mostly not-trying-to-be-funny bullshit about his day to day life. And also tour updates.

Mike still checks everyone's twitters, although for the most part they haven't been updated aside from the PA-run Marsh-Rogan account tweeting about how lovely Emma Stone looks in one of their blue evening gowns. Richie hasn't tweeted himself since he dropped off the face of the earth after bombing it on stage, but his manager posted a statement about how "Richie needs time away from touring after suffering a recent tragedy. Richie thanks you for respecting his privacy during this difficult time."

Richie hasn't seemed all that interested in even looking at twitter, much more preoccupied with watching  _ Forensic Files  _ and researching interesting places for them to stop by and visit when they finally get on the road.

("For Mike and Richie's Big Adventure," as Richie calls it, "our first stop should definitely be Fall River."

"And by Fall River, you just mean the Lizzie Borden house," Mike says. "Right?"

"And her grave!"

"You know, in 1892, fingerprinting was illegal in Massachusetts, so they couldn't use it in the investigation," Mike says. "But it's funny, because 1892 was also the first time fingerprinting was used to successfully catch and convict a murderer. In Argentina."

"Oh my God, I totally forgot about your hard-on for fingerprinting history."

"Are you going to call me a nerd now?"

"Yeah, but you're like a sexy nerd," Richie says. "You're gonna make some dork a very happy man someday, nerd."

"So Fall River?"

"I think they also had a satanic cult there, but I'm mostly interested in the lesbian axe murderess.")

So, Mike is surprised when Richie actually tweets.

Mike is at his desk, typing up what he thinks is a thorough and thoughtful chapter on the ways in which Derry's astronomical murder rate has disproportionately affected its Black community, when he gets a notification on his phone that Richie's tweeted something. (Yes, he has notifications turned on for new tweets from all the Losers' accounts). He doesn't know how to feel. One second his stomach is plummeting, the next his heart swells with pride, thinking Richie's taken his advice.

What the tweet says is: "just found out i'm gay. did anyone else know about this?"

Mike looks up from his phone and blinks blankly at nothing, until he hears Richie yell from across the small (goddamn it, Rich, be quiet) apartment, "HEY, DID YOU SEE MY TWEET?"

"Yeah," Mike replies, in an indoor voice, because he is an employee of a library. "Quite a coming out, Rich."

Richie comes up behind him at his desk and puts his arms around him, his cheeks pressing into Mike's hair. 

"Thanks for being there for me, dude," Richie says, his voice muffled against Mike's head. 

Mike leans back into Richie, bringing his hands up to grip Richie's forearms.

"Of course, man," Mike says. "You sure Steve and your publicity people won't go up the wall with a tweet instead of a live statement, though?"

"I'm not as famous as you think I am," Richie laughs. "I don't think people care enough."

"People always care, Richie," Mike says, pulling Richie's arms away and swiveling around in his chair. "I care."

"You care if I tweet my coming out or do it in, like, a Netflix special or something?" Richie looks down at him incredulously.

"Honestly, Rich," Mike sighs. "It sounds like you're just making a flippant joke here and not really coming out."

"First of all, this tweet was carefully crafted to be both serious and casual by yours truly," Richie says, crossing his arms.

"See, that would be why you have ghost writers," Mike says, leaning back and crosses his own arms.

"Et tu, Mikey?" Richie gasps, bringing a hand up to cover his heart. 

"Did Steve say it was okay for you to tweet it?"

"Yeah! Yeah, he did," Richie says. "He knows I'm not coming back to LA anytime soon and that this is something I want people to know. Look, I know it's probably kind of a little bit stupid and reckless, but, like, fuck it, right? I'm 40 years old, Mike. I spent twenty years of my life having stupid and reckless prepared for me to perform, I think it's time to just be stupid and reckless for  _ real _ . Like I was as a kid, and God knows, I held back then because I would be dead if I let anyone know I was gay. I'm safe for the first time in my life. I'm safe with you. Please let me be chaotic on my twitter for a little bit."

_ I'm safe with you _ , rings in Mike's ears and he thinks to himself… Well, at least it's twitter and not heroin in a back alley. 

Mike stands up and grasps Richie's hand, "I'm proud of you, Rich."

"Little old me?" Richie says, pulling Mike forward and hugging him tight. 

"I still think you should clarify that you're actually gay and not just making a stupid joke, though," Mike says, returning the hug.

They break apart and Richie says, "Okay, I'm gonna go watch  _ Forensic Files _ and figure out how to make a serious clarification sound witty and breezy. You wanna come to? We never finished that episode from last night."

"Yeah, in a little bit. I'm just finishing something up."

"What are you working on?" Richie says, leaning over to look at the papers and laptop on Mike's desk.

"Uh, yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that," Mike says. "But let me just finish this one thing, then I'll come tell you."

"Okay, dude," Richie says. "I'll just be over there. On our bed. Wondering what you're being so secretive about."

_ Our bed _ . Jesus, he's genuinely amazed how long they've made it without fucking yet.

Mike watches as Richie pulls his phone out and heads back to the bedroom (read: curtained off corner of the library clocktower). 

A moment later Mike gets a notification that Richie's tweeted again: "to clarify, this is a genuine coming out tweet. i am actually gay. so gay in fact that i plan to spend the rest of the time i'm meant to be touring in dollywood. here's a pic of us btw!"

He's attached a photo of Dolly Parton and Kermit the Frog.

"WAS THIS GOOD?" Richie yells.

"Congratulations, Kermit," Mike calls back at a reasonable volume.

Mike likes both the tweets and then gets back to writing. 

When Mike heads to bed, his hands are shaking slightly. Richie looks up at him concerned, pausing  _ Forensic Files. _

“Hey, Mikey, you okay?”

“Yeah, um, do you wanna know what I’ve been working on?”

“I mean, yeah, but you’re shaking like a leaf, dude,” Richie says. “You didn’t, like, kill someone, did you?”

Mike gives him a  _ look _ and Richie smirks up at him which makes Mike roll his eyes.

“No, I didn’t kill anyone,” Mike says, and decides to busy himself with changing into his pajamas so he doesn’t have to look Richie in the eye when he tells him he’s writing a massive book on the history of their shitty and supernaturally charged hometown. “You can talk though.”

“Hey, I did that to save my very attractive friend!” Richie says, over-dramatically, and Mike can hear him shuffle off the bed.

“Who, Ben?” Mike says, as he strips his t-shirt off and throws it in his hamper.

“No,” says Richie, and Mike turns around and Richie is right up in his space. “I mean, Ben’s hot, but you’re like… the fuckin’ Old Spice Guy.”

Mike’s eyes go wide, realizing he’s not wearing a shirt and that Richie is right there, close enough he can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“Seriously, dude,” Richie reaches a hand out towards Mike’s abs but doesn’t touch him. “You’re like… wow.”

He watches the bob of Richie’s adam’s apple as he swallows, and considers what it would be like to lick it. And what it would be like for Richie to touch his chest and for his fingers to travel down… 

Mike’s pants feel suddenly a lot tighter and Richie suddenly seems a lot closer.

“I, uh,” Mike says. “I’m not wearing a shirt.”

Richie gets a wicked look in his eye, grinning at Mike, looking down to his stomach and then back up in his eyes.

Richie takes off his own shirt and drops in on the floor.

“Well, would you look at that?” he says. “Neither am I.”

_ Oh, so this is happening?  _ Mike thinks, and a split second later Richie’s hand actually is pressed up against his abs. His other hand follows suit, and then they’re moving up his chest and settling hot against his neck, thumbs at his jaw.

“Honestly, this is the smoothest I’ve ever been, I gotta say something stupid to break the tension,” Richie says.

“What about Eddie?” Mike says, because he may as well take the stupid reigns from Richie for once.

Richie looks at him unimpressed, his hands sliding back down to press against Mike’s chest, and counters, “What about Bill?”

Mike rolls his eyes and decides to settle his hands on Richie’s hips, “Yeah, they’re both pretty unavailable, huh?”

“Eddie tragically so,” Richie says, shifting closer, slinging his arms over Mike’s shoulders.

“Are we ready to joke about Eddie’s death yet?”

“Probably not,” Richie says. “And honestly, it’s not a very horny conversation.”

Mike lets his hands wander over Richie’s back, absolutely revelling in the feeling of skin on skin after being without it for so long. His back is broad, not particularly muscular, but toned, strong.

“Listen,” Richie says, bringing one hand to the back of Mike’s head. “I’ll always love Eddie, but I don’t think I was ever under the impression that me and him were gonna run off together and live happily ever after or whatever. Like, I’m a dumbass but I’m not stupid, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“See, you get me.”

“Sure, I do.”

“So, you also get that I just wanna eat your ass, bro.”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

“I’m dead serious, Mikey,” Richie says, and presses his hands to Mike’s cheeks, leaning in even closer. “Full homo, too. I wanna start with the ass eating, obviously, but I also wanna, like, hold your hand and kiss you full on the lips and badly serenade you with Dolly Parton’s ‘I Will Always Love You’.” 

“You can do those things,” Mike says, feeling his grin push into Richie’s palms.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mike says as Richie starts to lean in. “But you know ‘I Will Always Love You’ is a breakup song, right?”

“I’ll just sing the chorus, asshole,” Richie says, impatiently. “Can I kiss you now?”

_ Yes, please, God _ , is what Mike feels, but he just nods eagerly and Richie finally kisses him. It’s tentative at first, but Mike brings a hand up with Richie’s jaw and deepens it, chasing the neediness he can feel vibrating through Richie’s body. Richie seems to startle himself with a sudden moan, and leans away, smiling, fingers fluttering excitedly over Mike’s jaw and neck.

"Fuck, okay," Richie breathes.

"You good?" Mike whispers, leaning forward to kiss at Richie's jaw.

“Yeah, I'm fuckin' awesome, I just…"

"Hm?"

"I can eat your ass too, right?” Richie asks.

“Oh, yeah, totally.”

So, he does..

Afterwards—after Richie fucks Mike slowly with his tongue and fingers; after he straddles Mike’s thigh and holds him tight against his chest, his hand branded over Mike’s heart, as he gets him off; after Richie presses open mouthed kisses along Mike’s shoulders, the back of his neck, the top of his spine as Mike comes; after Richie asks for nothing in return but to keep holding Mike; after their breathing has slowed and Mike is safe in Richie’s arms, their fingers laced together and their legs tangled—

_ Afterwards _ , Richie bites teasingly at Mike’s pulse in his neck and Mike stretches his neck out so Richie can get more room.

“You know, I’m not gonna be able to go again for a while,” Mike says, stretching his arm behind him to hold Richie’s thigh.

“Who said anything about sex,” Richie says, between soft kisses along Mike’s jaw, grazing over his beard, that drive Mike fucking crazy. “You just taste good.”

“Are you sure I can’t suck your dick or something?”

“Dude, seriously, I rubbed off against your thigh,” Richie laughs. “This is all about you.”

Mike sighs and untangles himself from Richie so he can turn to look at him.

“What?”

Mike props his head up on his hand and searches Richie’s face.

“What do you want?”

Richie furrows his brow, squinting at him, like he doesn’t understand. Like no one’s asked him what he wants before. To be fair, no one’s ever asked what Mike wants before, but if Richie had, instead of just knowing and giving him everything, he probably wouldn’t have known what to say either. Aren’t they a pair?

“I just want you, man,” Richie says. “Very one track mind over here, dude.”

Then he gets quieter. Averting Mike’s gaze, he grabs Mike’s free hand and dances his fingers over his palm.

“I promise you,” he says softly. “This is what I’m into. Getting someone else off, gets me off. That’s how it’s always been. What I want is doing whatever I can for you… Thanks for asking though.”

Mike smiles at him. Fuck, he’s cute. And he’s  _ hot _ . 

He kisses him so sweetly, when he pulls away Richie looks at him like he might cry.

“Thank you,” Mike says.

“Don’t have to thank me, Mikey,” Richie says. “Haven’t even got my dick in you yet. You can thank me then.”

“I don’t just mean that,” Mike says, pushing at Richie’s shoulder. “Thank you for being here. For literally saving my life. For getting me out of my head. For helping me pack up and planning Mike and Richie’s Big Adventure—”

“Aw, you didn’t just call it a road trip,” Richie says, fondly, and leans over to give him a quick peck.

“Let me finish,” Mike says, and Richie pulls back and flops his head on the pillow, looking up at Mike. “Thank you for wanting to spend your time with me.”

“I like spending time with you,” Richie says. “Even though a good chunk of that time, you’re being secretive over the laptop you stole from the library.”

“I didn't steal it, I  _ borrowed _ it.”

“You’re not supposed to take the laptops out of the library, Mikey!”

“I’m an employee of the library.”

“That just makes it worse.”

“I literally live in the library.”

“You live  _ above _ the library,” Richie says. “You fuckin’ weirdo.”

“Yeah, you love it.”

“I mean,” Richie says, shrugging. “Geeking out up here with you for the past month and a half has been uniquely sexy.”

“Nothing like dusty old books to get you going, huh?”

“Oh, nothing compares,” Richie grins. 

Oh, Mike thinks he loves him. He knows he loves him, obviously, but he thinks it's something deeper. That kind of love that digs at your insides and makes you catch your breath when you feel it hit you in the chest. A month and a half ago, he was just happy to have someone stay and want to spend all their time with him, let him talk and  _ really _ listen to him. Maybe it was inevitable that his love for Richie, his friend, would grow and transform into a real falling, because he needed all those things. And maybe it could've been anyone and that would've been fine, but he's happy it's Richie. Anyone probably couldn't have been Richie though, because the wavelength they're on really is just the both of them.  _ Anyone _ wouldn't have made him watch  _ Forensic Files _ , or listened to him to talk about fingerprinting, or sung 'Crazy' by Patsy Cline badly and loudly in a diner and encouraged him to sing along; anyone wouldn't be able to tease him mercilessly about his extremely stereotypical tweed jackets, complete with a stuffy librarian impression, and then talk seriously about the importance of public funding and community programming within the same ten minutes. 

Anyone wouldn't fuck him with his tongue and then  _ thank _ him for letting him do it.

"Thank you too, by the way," Richie says. "Your ass is super cool."

Mike knows he's thanking him for more than that. He can tell how grateful Richie is for being able to truly be himself without restraint and for having a supportive space to do it in. 

"You don't have to thank me," Mike says.

"Then you don't have to thank me either. I want to be here. I want to go on the road with you and take selfies wearing ugly vacation outfits at tourist traps."

"That's just how you dress."

"Okay, suspenders, you don't get to judge my very trendy fashion sense," Richie says. "You'd look hot as shit in one of my Hawaiian shirts by the way."

"You think?"

"Oh yeah, lounging on the beach with it open and nothing underneath," Richie says and Mike raises an eyebrow. "So, I can grab the collar and kiss your chest."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Well, now I want to fuck you on a beach."

"Sounds sandy, we might want to fuck by a beach and not right on it."

"I don't know, we gotta experience everything. Live a little, and you've got a lot of it to catch up on."

Mike nods and leans over to kiss Richie and  _ God _ , he could do this forever. Richie's a good kisser. That's about all he can think, because it's hard to explain just how it feels to be so thoroughly kissed better than he's ever had. 

Richie sucks on his bottom lip and then slides off, having to push Mike away slightly as he chases after Richie's lips. 

“So, before I finally got to eat your ass, you were going to tell me what this big secret project you’ve been working on is.”

“Oh, shit, right,” Mike laughs, rolling onto his back, suddenly nervous. He looks over at Richie who's sitting up, cross-legged and placing a hand over Mike's bare chest. “Yeah, uh, I’m writing a book.”

“Uh huh, okay,” Richie says. “I know you do a lot of writing. Why have you been acting like whatever this is is embarrassing?”

“It’s about Derry,” Mike says. “Like, the history of Derry.”

“I still don’t understand. That sounds like a very you thing to write about.”

“Well, part of it is, like… my diaries?” Mike says. “I wasn’t going to include them originally, but I guess I felt like personal anecdotes give the history more perspective.”

“Yeah, it totally does,” Richie says. “What are you worried about?”

“I want you to read it,” Mike starts. “Let me know how it is so far,” Mike watches a particularly telling grin grow on Richie’s face. “Wait, wait, listen, but you have to know that I am brutally honest about my life in it. My family, my Blackness, my sexuality, the useless fucking sheriff's department...”

“The clown?” Richie asks, looking taken aback.

“No, no, it was pretty easy to write around that,” Mike says. “There’s more weird shit to this town than just the demon clown.”

“Oh, so it’s, like…” 

“My feelings,” Mike whispers. “It's all in there. I haven’t been happy. I know what I’ve said to you, but it’s been… bad.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” Richie squeezes Mike’s hand and Mike laces their fingers together.

“I force myself to be an optimist, because if I don't… if I don't believe things can be better, that  _ I  _ can make them better… I don't know what I'd do. I just wanted you to know. And I want you to read it and I want your feedback. Obviously, I’d ask Bill, but  _ maybe _ I talk a little about my crush on him and I’m not ready to discuss that with him. I’ll wait ‘til it gets published and he can find out that way.”

“That sounds like me,” Richie says. “I think I’ve rubbed off on you a bit.”

“Oh, you’ve definitely rubbed off on me,” Mike says and Richie raises an eyebrow. “But, uh, yeah, I trust you to read it and be honest about what you think.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Richie says. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Hey, I’m proud of you too.”

“Cool,” Richie says, and then Mike can see as Richie gets uncomfortable with the sentimentality and vulnerability and switches gears. “So, you wanna watch  _ Forensic Files _ and cuddle?”

On the day they leave, Mike goes to his parents' and grandparents' graves. He places hand picked flowers at each of their headstones and prays. Not to anyone or god in particular, he just prays. For them to rest, not to wait up while he's gone, for safe travel, for his friends, for an easy happiness that he can settle into. 

They've just passed the heatwave and a cool breeze passes him as he stands up to leave. The leaves won't fall for another month yet, but he can feel the beginning of autumn creeping up and Mike is ready to finally leave summer behind. Especially summer in Derry.

Wiping at the tears in his eyes, Mike breathes in the chilly air, the scent of rain on the horizon, and smiles.

Mike packs his life into the car with Richie alongside him. Steve had sent a box of some of Richie's clothes from LA, and enjoying going to the laundromat to wash the small amount of clothing he has. ("Makes me feel like a real person," Richie says, although he confesses he was never very good at doing laundry when he was a kid or when he was in college… or even now, but Mike and Richie tend to make a day of it. A date of it. Romantic as all hell. Domestic.) Richie  _ loves _ wearing Mike's clothes though, so when Richie closes the trunk and says, "Is that all our clothes?" Mike feels a rush over how much they've joined forces. They're not just together, they have  _ shared _ possessions. Shared  _ clothes _ , which is so intimate that Mike doesn't even answer, he just grabs Richie by the revere collar and kisses him.

Richie makes a little  _ mmph _ but quickly catches on, grabbing Mike's hips and sliding his thumbs under the hem of Mike's shirt. It's kind of hungry, but they're standing outside the Derry Public Library in broad delight, so as much as Mike would love for Richie to blow him right there against the car, he has to pull away because it is 10 AM on a Tuesday and there are people watching. Unfortunately.

"Oh, wow, okay, that didn't answer my question," Richie says, patting his hand over Mike's chest and then just leaving it there. "But definitely not mad about it."

"Sorry, uh--"

"Dude, I just said I wasn't mad about it! Please don't apologize for sweeping me off my feet. I'm very good at swooning"

"Yes, that's all our clothes," Mike says. "Just need to grab our bags and then we can get on the road."

As Mike starts the car, Richie turns to him and gives him this look he can't decipher. This sad, happy, scared, excited look that ends up turning into a bright smile.

"Hey, I love you, man," he says.

"I love you too, Rich," Mike says, as they drive off and head towards the Kissing Bridge.

"Neato," says Richie.

"Ugh, beep beep, Richie," Mike says. " _ Neato _ . You the fuck says  _ neato _ ."

"A man in love, Mikey, a man in love."

Mike glances at him sideways and smirks.

"Neato," he says.

Richie puts his hand on Mike's thigh and squeezes and then goes to hook his phone up to the speakers.

"Dolly, Patsy, or Loretta?"

"You pick," Mike says. 

"How do you feel about 90s Lesbian folk?"

"That's not Dolly, Patsy,  _ or _ Loretta."

"No, but it is the Indigo Girls," Richie says. "We're broadening our horizons."

Mike shrugs, "whatever you want, baby."

"Neato," Richie says and presses play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:**

> yay i did the thing!


End file.
